It would start this time of year: First light brought reports of gunfire down from the hills behind our house in rural New Jersey. Guys clothed in camo and doused with scent-blocking spray to prevent their odor from betraying their presence were shooting deer during the brief gun-hunting season.
Later in the morning, I would see the hunters at the convenience store on the edge of town, picking up coffee and donuts (they'd been sitting out in freezing weather since 3 a.m. or so), deer carcasses lying in the beds of pickup trucks. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, ribbing one another on their hunting and human failings.
